


Marked

by hibernate



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 03:03:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4463060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hibernate/pseuds/hibernate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five people who stumbled through a door and picked up an orb. Where there is no Cadash, Trevelyan, Lavellan or Adaar, others must take their place. What sort of Inquisitors would Josie, Vivienne, Sera, Cassandra and Leliana make?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marked

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains a discussion of self-harm.

_Josephine_

Josephine's weapons have always been a sharp quill, polite smiles and carefully chosen words. What would she do with a sword that she could not do with more efficiency and speed – and significantly less blood – by using her wits? Unfortunately, Fade rifts do not respond to a stern talking to, nor to clever letters or a disarming laugh.

Leliana does not leave her side in the first few weeks, skulking around her like a watchdog, bow slung over her shoulder and probably more knives than Josephine wants to know hidden about her person. It hardly makes sense for the Inquisition's spymaster to abandon her post and appoint herself guardian and shadow, but she will not be reasoned with.

(It is some comfort, impractical though it may be.)

After three days of hiking across the Hinterlands, Josephine has gone past drafting strongly worded letters to her shoemaker and instead started cursing the Maker for creating the ground she's walking on. Cassandra enters her tent in the evening with a glass jar containing a sweet-smelling ointment.

"For your feet, Herald," she says, crouching next to Josephine. "I believe Leliana may have been too busy expecting the trees to assassinate you to notice."

"Thank you," Josephine replies, hands brushing by Cassandra's as she hands her the jar. The glass is warm, as if Cassandra has held it in her hands for a long time before coming into her tent.

Josephine might have felt embarrassed about requiring help with something so basic as blisters on her feet, if the last few weeks had not slowly and surely polished off all sense of dignity she may have once possessed. Her hair is a mess, and pants may be practical but she misses her dresses, she misses having a good, solid desk to rest her elbows on, and most of all she misses the thrill of crafting alliances and friendships with only the rasp of her quill.

Traipsing about forests, holding her hand up against rifts and trying to learn how to use a bow – it is necessary, of course, but she cannot help feeling like her real talents are being wasted.

"I was not made for a life like this," she says with a small sigh.

"A life outdoors?" Cassandra asks, face as stern as ever, but there is a twinkle in her eye and the slightest twitch tugging at the corner of her mouth, that tell a different story.

Josephine cannot help but laugh. "Quite so."

"You will close the Breach," Cassandra says. "And eventually there will be no more rifts left. It will not always be like this."

"You have a lot of faith in my abilities. I'm not entirely sure it's not misplaced."

"It is not misplaced, Herald," Cassandra says, and the quiet awe in her voice is enough to sober just about anyone.

Of all the paths that lay before her when she accepted Leliana's offer to join the Inquisition, becoming a religious icon was certainly not one she had considered. How does one navigate waters like these, so deep and treacherous? She is no Andraste, shining with conviction, and she would very much prefer not to end up on a pyre.

Cassandra looks up then, eyes strikingly intense, and Josephine does not know how anyone could bear to disappoint her.

 

 

_Vivienne_

"While you're here I do have a question," Josephine says, and though the tone of her voice is no different than when she asked what color curtains she preferred, there is an ever-so-slight tension to her shoulders, one that Vivienne can hardly miss.

"Yes, dear?" Vivienne replies, casting her gaze towards the door to make sure it's properly closed. Minaeve has gone to speak with Adan, and the room is, for now, safe from prying ears and eyes.

"The remaining Grand Clerics sent a missive inquiring about events at the Temple of Sacred Ashes." Josephine tightens her grip on her clipboard, candle light casting shadows across her face, making it difficult to read. "They demand to know whether the Inquisition officially claims that Andraste saved you from the Breach. If it were up to you, how would you reply?"

Vivienne tilts her head, giving her a wry smile. "Josephine, darling, I think we both know that whatever happened at the Temple, Andraste had very little to do with it. Long dead women, no matter how holy, rarely do involve themselves in affairs this side of the Veil."

"I suppose you are correct," Josephine says, sounding almost wistful. "Divine intervention is perhaps not the most likely reason you wear that Mark on your hand."

Vivienne turns her hand over to look at it, fingers spread out, palm unmarked and ordinary. So much power hidden away under the surface, so much potential. It's not so different from being a mage, but infinitely more useful.

"Tell the Grand Clerics nothing," Vivienne says, looking up to meet Josephine's gaze. "If I claim Andraste pulled me out of the Breach, they will no doubt call me a heretic, yet outright denying it might be unwise, depending on how the dice fall in the coming months. Let them speculate."

"Of course," Josephine replies evenly. Fiddling with her quill, a thoughtful expression comes over her face. "If you do no believe that Andraste is the reason you're standing here, then what, if I may ask, do you believe?"

"Is that truly relevant?"

"Call it simple curiosity."

"The Chantry teaches that the Maker has abandoned us. I see no reason to doubt that." Vivienne pauses, brushing her hand over her arm, smoothing out a wrinkle. "As for my survival and the presence of this Mark, for the moment it remains a mystery to me, as well. One cannot control chance, only grab onto it when it brushes past you."

"From what I've gathered," Josephine says, "you have a particular talent for that."

It occurs to Vivienne that she may have underestimated the ambassador. All things considered, Cullen is of little importance and Leliana is a loose cannon, as dangerous as she is useful. Cassandra is a delight, of course, and she might be a valuable asset if she can ever be persuaded to take her armor off, but Vivienne is not sure that she – or anyone – possesses that sort of patience. What a pleasant surprise to think that she might have found a worthy ally in the Inquisition, after all.

"I think perhaps we should make an effort to meet more frequently, Ambassador," she says, allowing herself a smile. "I do so enjoy our little talks."

Josephine smiles back, kind and honey-smooth. Vivienne does not think she is the first to be fooled by that sweet, lovely face. Looking down on her hand once more, Vivienne lets her smile linger. She has access to a brand new kind of power now, one that could not have been planned for. She has always been at her best working with the unexpected.

Let them speculate, indeed, Vivienne thinks, while she makes plans.

 

 

_Sera_

"Don't," Cassandra says, kneeling slowly in front of her in the snow.

The dagger's proper sharp; it needs to be for this. Quick and sharp, if it takes too long she'll drop it and have to start over. The sun hits the blade and the snow around them, and everything is bright, bright, bright, like the twisted, frigging thing on her hand. It's plunged into the snow and starting to ache, throbbing from the cold in time with her heartbeat. Almost ready, no matter what Cassandra says.

"Piss off," Sera growls, but of course a sodding Seeker won't let go once she's sniffed out her target. She's like a mabari with a bone, that one, worst of them all.

Cassandra puts her hand over Sera's, where it's clasped around the handle of the dagger. "I can't let you do this."

"Don't get it, do you?" Sera clenches her hand around the dagger, holding still despite herself. "It's in me. Demons and rifts and all this bloody _magic_ , inside me. I need to cut it out."

"I know," Cassandra says, regretful, not that it matters. "I still can't allow it."

She done it last time too, when Sera had put her hand in the fire, trying to burn the magic off. Cassandra is good when there are demons around, like _really_ good at making them go away, except when they're inside Sera, apparently. Those she wants to keep.

Fat lot of good having a Seeker around if she won't Templar the stupid magic out of her.

"What you gonna do," Sera spits out, "tie me up and drag me along so you can throw me at the rifty things?"

Cassandra stays all calm, like she doesn't even care. "If I must," she says, keeping her hand on Sera's.

Sodding Inquisi-fuckers, they would. They'd follow if she ran too, set their mages on tracking her stupid hand probably. Well, they can have it if they want it so bad, it just won't come with a Sera attached to it.

"There would be no need for me to drag you, though," Cassandra adds. "You are a small thing. I shall simply sling you over my shoulder."

"Try it and I'll put an arrow in your face."

"I believe it is quite difficult to draw back a bow when one is being carried."

Cassandra turns her hand over, unclenching her fingers one by one until she can take the dagger away, tucking it into her belt. Sera's other hand, the bad one, is still tucked under tightly packed snow, and Cassandra brushes the snow away, putting both of Sera's hands in her gloves ones. The bad one with the magic is entirely numb now, doesn't even feel like it belongs to her anymore. Would be better if it didn't.

Bending forward, Cassandra blows on her icy fingers, breath hot like a dragon's until it starts to tingle and hurt. It's a nice pain, though, because Cassandra's got real pretty lips and she's got this way about her, like she's a good person to stand behind when it's all windy and stuff. Sera lets her keep blowing on her fingers even after they're warm enough.

Eventually, Cassandra stops, but she keeps Sera's hands in hers, probably thinks it's gonna stop her from running away. Joke's on her; she's good with a sword and all, but Sera's got quicker feet by far. Still, Sera doesn't move. It's nice to have warm hands for once, even if the rest of her is cold, and she likes the feeling of Cassandra's rough gloves against her skin. Cassandra's hands feel good, like maybe she can almost fool herself that Cassandra likes her too, not just what the Mark made her into.

"I'm not your frigging Herald," she mutters.

"You need not be anything you do not wish to be."

It's not true, but as long as Cassandra is holding her hands she might believe it just a little.

 

 

_Cassandra_

Once she has mastered the technique, she closes the rifts, one by one, with tireless persistence. Her companions cannot keep up with her fervent pace, but it matters not; there are many of them but only one of her, and she does not get tired.

The Mark is on her hand, glowing green with its strange magic, but it does not hide the blood that cannot be washed off. Divine Justinia, Galyan, Hawke, Leliana, and all the countless people whose names she never knew, all gone in the blink of an eye as the Maker branded her hand.

Andraste pulled her out of the Breach, but Cassandra wonders if it was not a punishment rather than a reward.

There is a rift in the middle of a lake in Crestwood, and she will not leave it unclosed; no stone must be left unturned. The waves are higher and harder than they seemed from the shore, but she is strong and she will do what she must. She will carry out the task she was returned through the Fade to do.

Another shaky breath, a stroke of her aching legs, and time loses meaning in the water. She breathes, she swims, and her hand burns as she gets closer. One last deep breath and she dives down, striving towards the opening in the underground cave. Spirits drift like fish through the water, and the Anchor erupts in green light.

Swords cannot be swung under water, and hers is still on the shore where she left her armor. Instead she puts all her effort into her hand, letting its fires blaze through the water. Time cannot be turned back and she cannot save those who should have lived in her stead, but this, _this_ , she can do.

Everything goes dark when the rift swings shut, her chest burns with lack of air, and she must have exhaled the air from her lungs because she is sinking like a stone.

She sinks, until – the water starts to move.

Tugged along, she breaks the surface briefly – _breathing in_ – and then gets pulled under again. Faster and faster the water flows, and she along with it. In the end, she is deposited on the wet streets of Old Crestwood, sprawled on her back, breathing, _Maker_ , breathing.

There are voices somewhere close or far away, and once she has breathed some more she will stand up. Another few breaths and a shadow falls over her. If it is an enemy, she will die on her back, defenseless.

"It seems the Inquisitor did not perish after all," Vivienne says, stepping into Cassandra's view along with Iron Bull and Sera. "Not for lack of trying."

"Aw, she brought food!" Sera exclaims, bending over Cassandra to pluck a fish, flopping weakly in the air, from her chest. Iron Bull laughs, a loud, booming noise that makes Cassandra close her eyes and smile.

When she opens her eyes again, Sera is leaning over her. "We drained the lake," she says, grinning.

"I noticed."

Vivienne steps forward, leaning over her as well. "Darling, is this disregard for common sense deliberate, or were you by any chance dropped on your head as an infant?"

In the distance, Iron Bull laughs even louder.

 

 

_Leliana_

Twice she has perished at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and twice she has returned. She has walked the Fade twice as well, and come back with _more_.

Walking beside Divine Victoria through the Grand Cathedral's rose garden, Leliana cannot quite suppress a frown. "After everything, how can you still doubt that I've been touched by the Maker?"

The look Vivienne gives her is cold and discerning. "Holiness is a bold claim, Inquisitor, and usually foolish."

"I prefer to be referred to as the Herald of Andraste."

"I'm sure you do."

Leliana reaches out, slowing her steps and touching her fingers to one of the many pink roses along their path. "I was a Sister to the Chantry once," she says, "and Left Hand to your predecessor. You remember, yes? I wish to serve the Chantry, not oppose it."

"You wish to influence decisions that are not yours to make," Vivienne replies, face unmoving.

"And you wish to maintain control of all decisions yourself, whether or not you possess the wisdom for it."

"I was elected into this position to make those decisions." Vivienne gives her a sidelong glance, seeding her words with a touch of condescension. "Your claims are based on a series of events that seem more like a sign of extraordinary luck than any involvement of the Maker."

With a snap, Leliana plucks a rose from one of the bushes, feeling the thorns sting her fingers. "You used the Inquisition as a platform for your ambitions, and having taken what you want, you will simply discard us?"

"Not at all. My support is with the Inquisition, as it always was. Did I not stand by your side when you drank from the Well of Sorrows, and when you faced Corypheus? It is not, however, the Inquisitor's place to influence the Chantry."

"Herald of Andraste."

"The Chantry does not officially acknowledge that title."

"You were with me in the Fade, Vivienne. Have you already forgotten?"

It is quite a sight, the unflappable Divine Victoria unable to suppress a shudder. "I have not forgotten," she says, a raw edge to her voice. Leliana takes some delight in that.

"I am trying to change things for the better," Leliana says, lifting the rose in her hand to her face, inhaling its sweet scent.

"Things are changing," Vivienne says, face softening ever so slightly, "but the world does not move at the pace we choose, and attempting to steer it is a delicate task indeed."

It is nothing Leliana has not heard before. They have reached the entrance, where they began, and nothing has changed. Vivienne always did have her own agenda, even when their goals were the same. Leliana may have neglected to notice once, but not again.

At the gate, Cassandra awaits them, in shining armor, eyes ablaze. None too pleased at having been left behind, no doubt. Right Hand of a third Divine, there are things Leliana could say about that, if she was in a mood to.

"I am pleased to see you both still live," Cassandra says, giving them both a keen look. "I would prefer not to find myself in the middle of a war between two people I consider friends."

Vivienne puts her hand on Cassandra's armored arm, giving her a fond smile. "Of course not, my dear. We were having a perfectly civilized conversation."

"I have no intention of going to war," Leliana says, "unless the Chantry makes an enemy of the Inquisition."

The smile Vivienne gives Leliana is decidedly less fond than the one she gave Cassandra. "The Chantry has no such intention, unless the Inquisition makes an enemy out of us."

Handing the thorny rose to Vivienne, Leliana takes her leave.


End file.
